


Always Occupied

by alynwa



Series: Picfic Tuesday Challenge [14]
Category: Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-29
Updated: 2012-10-29
Packaged: 2017-11-17 07:48:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alynwa/pseuds/alynwa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Picfic Tuesday Challenge on Livejournal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always Occupied

He saw the “Vacancy” sign glowing like a beacon in the dark.  As he got closer, he could see that the building the sign was attached to was just as ramshackle as it was.  No matter; the fact that it _was_ a building made it the equivalent of the Taj Mahal.  He took a few moments to compose himself before entering to speak with the person at the Front Desk.

“Good evening, I see you have a vacancy.  I just need it for tonight.” 

The old man behind the counter glared suspiciously at the stranger standing opposite him before lowering his head to push a book toward him.  “Sign the registry.  That will be thirty – five dollars.”  He pulled the book back when the man finished signing.  “What the heck kind of name is ‘Navarre Solange?’” he asked. 

“It’s ah, French, my parents were French Canadian,” the man answered with what he hoped was a trustworthy smile on his face.

The old man grunted.  As he pulled out a receipt slip and filled it out, he had one more question for the dark – haired man.  “I didn’t see any headlights or hear a car.  How’d you get here?”

“My car broke down about a mile down the road.  I’ll call for a tow in the morning.  Right now, I just want to _rest_ ,” he said and let some of the weariness he felt show.  He took the key and receipt from the clerk’s hand. 

“Your room is to the left and four doors down.  Welcome to the Sapphire Motel,” he added automatically. 

Napoleon walked to his room and let himself in, locking the door securely behind him.  He sat heavily upon the bed, took his left hand out of his jacket pocket where he had been holding his side and pulled the jacket back to reveal a bloody spot with a hole in the middle marking where the bullet had entered his body.  _Those pain pills aren’t going to last much longer._

He pulled out his communicator and spoke into it, “Open Channel K.  Illya?”

The Russian’s voice came through loud, clear and angry.  “Did you lose your watch, Napoleon?  You are four hours overdue!”

“Couldn’t be helped, _Tovarisch,_ I had to shoot my way out.  I took a bullet in the side, crashed my car.  I’m at…” he fumbled around the nightstand until he found a matchbook.  “Ah, I’m at the Sapphire Motel, 4579 Route 9, Toad Lick, Arkansas.  I’m in room four.”

“I am on my way, Napoleon; I will be there in three hours.  Do not worry.  Kuryakin out.”

Napoleon ripped his shirt into strips and dressed his wound as best he could.  Fortunately, it was a through and through shot and the bleeding had slowed now that he was no longer moving.  He washed his hands, drank some water and then settled back onto the bed, gun at his side and waited.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed watching The Late Late Show when there was a knock on the door.  “Illya, you got here fast!” he said as he threw the door open.  No one was there.  He leaned out and looked both ways.  It was a little windy so he figured a branch must have hit the door.  He closed it and turned around to see a little boy of about seven standing in front of the bathroom holding a teddy bear.  “Where did you come from?” he demanded.  When the boy’s eyes started to water, he said in a softer tone, “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to scare you.  What’s your name?”

“Timmy.  I can’t find my mommy.  I’m lost.  Help me, please!”

“Okay, I’ll call the Front Desk.”  Napoleon picked up the phone and frowned to find there was no dial tone.  “You know, it’s very late and probably everyone is sleeping.  I’ll sleep in this chair and you sleep in the bed and we’ll call help for you tomorrow, okay, Timmy?”

“Yes,” Timmy said and immediately climbed into bed and dropped off to sleep.  Napoleon struggled to stay awake, but lost the battle quickly.

The trilling of his communicator woke him up.  He answered quickly.  “Solo.”

“It is Illya.  Open the door.”

Napoleon came fully awake and realized he was on the bed.  As he got up to open the door he thought, _I must have moved in my sleep._ He opened the door to his partner and a medical team from the local office.  “Good, one of them can check the boy.  He’s lost.  We can ask the Front Desk clerk to call the police for him.”

Illya looked over his partner’s shoulder at the room.  “What clerk?  What boy?”

The med techs had started cleaning out his wound and prepping him for travel.  One gave him a needle full of antibiotics to fight infection while another gave him aspirin and a mild painkiller.  “You have a fairly high fever, Mr. Solo.  You must have imagined those people.”

Napoleon pushed them both away.  “I didn’t imagine _anything!_   I checked in last night and a little boy got in here somehow and told me he was lost!”

Illya had checked the bathroom and come back into the room.  He lifted the bed covers and picked up a teddy bear.  He held it out and grinned, “I like your little sleeping companion.”

Napoleon looked triumphant.  “There!  That’s proof Timmy was here, that’s his bear he was carrying!  Maybe his mother is in the next room.  Check with the clerk; how many people could be in this place, anyway?”

Illya exchanged looks with the techs and said, “Let us prepare to leave.  Come outside.”

When Napoleon stepped outside the door, he was shocked.  Last night, the place had looked a little beaten up, but now it looked dilapidated and deserted.  All the windows were boarded up and the other doors had planks of wood across them.  “I don’t understand,” he said as he walked to where he had checked in, “where is that old man?”

One of the tech asked, “Did you say the boy’s name was Timmy?”  At Napoleon’s nod, he said, “That was probably Timmy Doyle.  The story goes that he and his mom checked in here after running away from her abusive husband.  Somehow, he figured out they were here and tracked them down.  He knocked her out while the boy was asleep and dragged her off into the woods where he killed her.  He came back to the room and was in the act of strangling Timmy when the front desk clerk must have figured out something wasn’t right and came to the room.  The husband then killed him with a knife and then took his own life.  The place closed down after that; no one would stay here.  That was fifteen years ago.”

Napoleon stared at the door he had entered to check in the night before.  “Illya, please open that door, I have to see something.  Please.”

Illya kicked at the door and it practically disintegrated it was so old.  Napoleon walked in and walked up to the dust – covered front counter where an old and badly yellowed register sat abandoned.  He took one look, turned quickly and said, “Let’s get out of here” before marching back out into the sunlight toward the vehicle where the techs sat waiting.

Illya moved closer to the counter to look at the register.  There, written in fresh ink in Napoleon’s handwriting, was the name of his alter – ego, Navarre Solange.  He dropped the teddy bear on the floor and quickly left.

    

    


End file.
